


making the same mistakes again

by SpookMouse (carinacove)



Series: compound fractures [2]
Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Bloodplay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Worth and Conrad are not great at traditional comfort sex, h/c is just an excuse for comfort sex, or traditional anything really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carinacove/pseuds/SpookMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conrad's slightly less injured. That's good enough, by Worth's standards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making the same mistakes again

**Author's Note:**

> I skipped repeating some dialogue from the first part, so a couple of lines might not make sense here without reading that first.

It's been 18 years since the last time he had a broken bone- memorable, because it was also the last time his mother had let him go to Jacob Newley's house, which meant he was the only kid in class to miss out on that summer's one and only pool party. He'd cried at the hospital, but not too much, because he could already tell his mom was mad and he wanted to be good so she wouldn't yell at him for climbing trees in the first place. The doctor had been really nice, though. She'd brought him a pudding from the cafeteria.

He thinks, now, that he's probably in shock, which is why his mind's wandering like this. There's a lot of pain, but it's almost distant, and mostly he just feels cold. Which is kind of weird, because even though he knows he _is_ cold, he doesn't actually _feel_ it anymore. Not like this, anyway, like a chill all the way through him. He has a vague moment of wishing Worth was nearby (Worth's like a goddamn human radiator) then he realizes Hanna's Zombie Sidekick is trying to say something to him.

Changing back into a bat doesn't sound so great- it sounds like work, quite frankly- but being carried sounds good. He's not really sure his legs are going to hold out too much longer; he'd probably be feeling faint except doesn't that come from a loss of blood to the brain or something? Well, actually in that case he's probably _more_ likely to faint, but- right. Bat-shape. Right.

The trip to Worth's is a blur; the change seems to make his arm (wing) hurt worse, or maybe it just clears his head enough for him to feel it, but either way all he can think is _pain, pain, pain_ , sharp stabbing pain that puts a haze over his eyes and makes him see stars with every jostle to his right side. He only knows they've reached Worth's because he happens to catch the familiar scent as he's gasping for breath he doesn't actually need.

When he tries to sit up, his wing gets jarred in a way that makes his vision white out completely for a minute. It's possible he makes some embarrassing noises; it's kinda likely that he falls over. He's not really sure, though. The next thing he's aware of is being set on the table, and Worth hovering over him.

It takes a moment for Worth's words to sink in: change back again. Right. That sounds like a completely fucking awful idea, but maybe it means he'll stop hurting soon. Or maybe this'll be bad enough that he'll actually pass out, which would actually be pretty welcome right now.

He doesn't pass out, but he does nearly fall; he's kind of too busy gasping in pain to care about how embarrassing that would've been. The shift makes his arm feel like it's full of stabbing things, and he's a little afraid that those stabbing things are bits of his own bones, and he's really not willing to look at his arm right now to find out. He whimpers to himself instead, closes his eyes, tries to ignore the way Worth is jabbing at him and snapping at Hanna and just generally being an asshole. The familiarity of it is almost comforting, really.

The hit of the first rune to his arm is like ice water being poured down his spine, only in a good way. It makes the pain sort of blur, and the second rune seems to be more of the same. "Oh," he murmurs softly, relieved, barely more than an exhale, and Worth's fingers brush his hip in a way that could almost pass for accidental. He has no idea what the next rune does, but at least it doesn't hurt, and then Worth's doing something weird that he decides to just ignore in favor of basking in the snow-cold numbness keeping the pain away.

"Next time you get it into your head to run off like a moron," Worth's saying, snapping at Hanna, sounding genuinely annoyed, "bring the werewolf instead. At least she ain't completely fuckin' useless."

Ugh, just when he'd started feeling benevolent and almost-fond towards Worth for whatever the hell he's doing to his arm. "Fuck off," he mumbles, and Worth answers him somehow- words words words, it's all sort of fuzzy. Worth's being a jerk, though, he can follow that much. And he's aware Worth's moved on to messing with his hand, because it's a little less numb than his arm, and then it isn't numb at all because _ow_ and _fuck_.

He realizes he's making really pathetic noises, makes himself stop. Fuck, his hand fucking hurts and somehow that thought makes it through the cotton cloud around his brain and flips the panic switch. An ability to hold a stylus is pretty crucial to his life. "I- my hands," he says, or slurs, or babbles; he doesn't think he's making too much sense right now but apparently enough of it gets through.

"Hold still," Worth snaps at him, and says some more stuff, too, and somewhere in there is reassurance and even if the words don't get through his tone does, and Conrad feels the tension slide out of his shoulders pretty much immediately. He's sort of surprised to realize how readily he's willing to take Worth's word that he'll be okay.

The pain fades back again a bit, enough for Worth's actual words to register, and the implications that go along with them- his drawing hand, he'd said. Ha. So Worth's been paying attention; the sudden warm feeling in his chest might have something to do with the affection thing that they don't talk about, but he's sure it can just as easily be blamed on the runes somehow, or maybe the pain.

Still, Worth's hands are surprisingly gentle where they're running over his arms, and it almost gets a smile out of him. The affection thing (that they don't talk about, ever, seriously) is apparently mutual.

Whatever Worth's doing is helping, though; after a minute the numbness starts to turn to warmth, radiating out from his arm to all along his right side. It's such a fucking relief that it makes him sigh a little, slouching forward a bit to press his forehead to Worth's shoulder. Worth's _ridiculously bony_ shoulder, ow, but even that's kind of okay because Worth reaches up, touching the back of his neck, ruffling his hair a little.

He closes his eyes, still for a moment, feeling Worth's warm breath puff against his scalp along with a barely-audible, "Fag." And somehow even that sends a rush of affection through him, and he reaches out with his good hand, just a bit, just enough, not actually touching Worth's hand where it's resting on the table but edging a little closer, a silent _I guess I wouldn't fight it or anything if you wanted to touch me_.

There's maybe the briefest hesitation- and then Worth's hand inches forward; the tips of their fingers brush, tangle for a moment, then pull apart as Worth steps away.

"Right," he says. And then proceeds to basically push Hanna and Zombie Sidekick out the door, while simultaneously reestablishing himself as a huge fucking jerk. Like Conrad needed the reminder.

It's so quiet once the others are out of the room; exhaustion sneaks up on him suddenly, and he's tempted to just lay right there on the table. The grubby, skeezy table. That he probably won't want to get up from once he's down, since he's so goddamn sore and sleepy right now. Yeah, okay, maybe not.

Worth's bed isn't exactly great- it's pretty shitty, in fact- but right now it sounds like heaven. He keeps his right arm clutched close to his chest and makes his way down the hall, collapsing (carefully) onto the ridiculous pile of pillows covering half the bed. One of these days, he thinks, he really ought to bring over a mattress pad, or maybe a new mattress entirely.

Before he can let himself be too horrified by that thought, Worth wanders in, thankfully distracting him with his grumbling. "You're a fucking moron," is the first thing he says, and Conrad wonders if he even actually gives a shit or if he just likes yelling at people. He's thinking the latter.

Either way, he's still hurting enough to not want to bother arguing back. "And you're an asshole, and we all play the hand we're dealt. Are you really going to call Lamont?" Worth shoots him a glare, then turns away to rummage in a box that Conrad knows contains a variety of things with sharp edges. Ha. That's a no.

"Gonna have to," Worth says, which he hadn't expected. "You're gonna need fresh, more'n I got, n you're too fuckin' useless to get it yourself." His tone's mild, though, and he's climbing into bed holding a pocket knife, and Conrad's still achy and exhausted and, suddenly, really really hungry. "It'll keep 'til later, though." And he drags the knife across the inside of his arm, just above the wrist, hissing in a sharp breath as the blood wells.

The smell hits him like a slap- fuck, he's _starving_ and Worth smells _amazing_ and he finds himself lunging without really meaning to, latching onto Worth's arm in sudden desperation; he feels mindless, as dazed and needy and out of control as he'd been the first night this thing between them started. Except now he's had months (don't think about how many months) of experience with Worth, and he knows exactly what each of the noises he's making mean, can gauge his pleasure from the tightness of the grip on his hair, knows where to touch on the inside of Worth's arm to make his groans stutter into something a little more breathless.

It makes him want _more_ and suck harder, biting at the already broken skin, making Worth jerk against him and make an entirely new noise. He's maybe being too rough, but fuck, he can't stop- and Worth's not exactly discouraging him with the way he's gasping and yanking at his hair and he tastes like he's already close to the edge without so much as a hand on him. "Fuck," Worth says, distant and faint, and he loses himself in the taste and the smell and the feel of Worth against him, gripping him closer.

And then, abruptly, Worth's grip slackens, and it's not because he's come because Conrad would've noticed that and then he thinks _shit_ and pries himself away, panting for breath he doesn't need and swallowing convulsively.

Fuck, he can tell at a glance that he's taken more than he should've; Worth isn't pale or anything but he looks shaky, pupils blown wide, breath coming fast, words slurring when he snaps "The fuck'd you stop for?"

Right, and _he's_ the stupid one. "Oh, y'know, I just figured I'd _not kill you_ , sorry about that." He moves his arm a little experimentally, finds it feels a hell of a lot better already. Worth smacks at his head for it, though.

"Stop undoin' all my hard fuckin' work, hold still. Christ." Worth's looking kind of weak but he shoves Conrad back anyway, pushing him flat into the pillows and shifting to straddle his chest. "You just stay right the fuck there," he says, voice gone low and gravelly in a way that he finds kind of embarrassingly hot; "Stay right there n open that mouth for me," and his hand's back in Conrad's hair, tilting his head back, other hand shoving his jeans down over his hips to free his dick, hard and a little wet at the tip and Conrad just gives up, groans and opens his mouth because there's no point in trying to pretend he doesn't want this so fucking badly.

Worth pushes in slow, watching as his dick slides over Conrad's lips, against his tongue, cheeks hollowing as he sucks; "You fuckin' love this, don't you," he murmurs, and Conrad almost wants to close his eyes against it, hide from it since he hasn't got the words to deny it, but fuck- he _does_ love it, loves the weight on his tongue, the way it stretches his mouth, the taste and the smell and the sound of Worth's heartbeat surrounding him, and instead of closing his eyes he looks up to meet Worth's gaze looking down.

" _Fuck_ ," Worth hisses, and shoves in rougher, faster, bumping against the back of his throat and making them both moan, pulling back out just so he can push in again even harder, fingers of both hands gone brutally tight in his hair. "Fuck, yeah, take it, that's-" 

And then somehow the pocket knife's in his hand again, blade digging into his thumb, and he's pushing his thumb- fuck, pushing his thumb in alongside his dick, stretching Conrad's mouth further, hot blood against his tongue and it makes him jerk, makes him keen, embarrassingly high pitched but _holy shit_ he doesn't care, he absolutely does not give a fuck. He sucks desperately, his own hips pushing up against nothing as Worth starts to fuck his face in earnest, swearing continuously under his breath, free hand curving around the back of Conrad's head to keep him right fucking there.

His fingers curl tight, suddenly, yanking hard, pushing deep and holding there and if Conrad actually had to breathe he'd be choking but instead he just moans, and swallows, and Worth says "Fuck, _fuck_ ," hips snapping as he comes down Conrad's throat.

Worth stays exactly as he is for a moment, hissing and twitching as he rides out the aftershocks, fingers combing loose and easy now and probably making a fucking mess out of his hair but it's pretty much impossible to care about that right now. He whimpers, after a minute, Worth's thumb still bleeding a little in his mouth and if that keeps up too much longer, seriously, he might just come from that alone.

But Worth's apparently feeling benevolent; he pulls back at last, split thumb rubbing along Conrad's lips, then sliding down to grip at his throat and tilt him up for a kiss and, fuck, he _knows_ that thumb can't actually be closing off his breathing because he _doesn't breathe_ but apparently his body doesn't care, judging by the way it makes his dick jump. Fuck, he never used to have kinks before.

"Y'know," Worth says against his lips, and then bites, "I'm thinkin' if I get you off it'd be like positive reinforcement for you to do stupid shit again, n we can't have that." He's pretty sure he whines; he's beyond caring, even when Worth snickers at him. "Christ, you're a crybaby." But oh, fuck, yes, he's sliding down the bed and Conrad can't help but arch a little even though nothing's happened yet.

Worth's looking kind of sleepy, heavy-lidded and lazy and probably still woozy from the double hit of endorphins and blood loss- but that's usually when he's at his most agreeable, and fuck, _yes_ , he curls a hand around Conrad's dick without preamble, stroking slow and tight once, twice, then leans in to suck at the head, lips soft and wet and lush and warm around him.

He yelps, grabs at Worth's hair; Worth glares at him, swats at his hand, but doesn't pull away, and when Conrad switches from grabbing to petting he leaves off on the glaring. Worth doesn't do this much, though he seems to like it well enough, so Conrad fully intends to enjoy it while he can. Which sadly really isn't going to be very long because fuck, he's so close, he feels like he's been close for _ages_ and when Worth sucks again he shudders and whimpers and tries to hold himself back just a little bit longer.

Except then Worth gets devious, and fuck, he really _has_ been paying attention- one hand splays on his belly, the other nudges up behind his balls, knuckle pressing right at the sweet spot that makes him jerk and Worth sucks, so slow, so easy, like he's going to do it all goddamn night and then suddenly it's hard and rough and hotwet _perfect_ and he's biting his own lip and making muffled embarrassing noises as he comes, and Worth (fuck, _Jesus_ ) swallows around him.

"Fucking hell," he says weakly after a bit, and Worth looks smug.

They drift quietly for a bit, too worn out to bother with bickering or anything else. He drapes his right arm over his ribs, eyeing it dubiously; there's still faint runes on it, and it still hurts, though nowhere near as much. His left hand's still in Worth's hair, and he can't bring himself to give a shit about that, or about the fact that Worth's using his stomach as a pillow and looks to already be half asleep. Whatever, it means he gets all the real pillows, and Worth kicks out heat better than any blanket.

His mind's wandering again as he starts to doze off, back to being in the hospital at 10 and Doctor Cartwright sneaking him chocolate pudding because she said he'd been so brave about his broken ankle. He wonders if Worth's got chocolate pudding; he wonders if Worth would eat a chocolate pudding just so he could get a secondhand taste. Both sound pretty unlikely, but then he remembers that he's not getting a secondhand taste of anything for a bit because Worth is stupid.

"Hey." He tugs at Worth's hair, nudges him until he opens his eyes to glare blearily. "Go drink some orange juice or something." Worth grunts in irritation, closes his eyes again. "Seriously, you're going to hurt yourself- or _I'm_ going to hurt you. You really need to start, y'know, stopping me when I'm going too far."

"Yeah," Worth says, and squints one eye open to give him a look that clearly says _not likely_. "Tell you what, you stop followin' Hanna into his stupid-ass adventures n I'll think about it." Where 'think about it,' he knows, means 'have another cigarette and ignore you'. He speaks fluent Worth by now.

It strikes him suddenly that holy shit, they're _worrying about each other_. It's a horrifying thought, and his first instinct should probably be to shove Worth away, to get out of here as quickly as possible and back to the relatively normal, boring life waiting for him in his flat.

But instead, he laughs- a real laugh, a kind of embarrassing guffawing sort of laugh that shakes him all through and makes Worth make noises of irritation at the way his pillow's suddenly become less stable. "What the fuck," he grumbles, and pins Conrad down by his left wrist. "Stop fucking flailing around."

Which only makes it worse, of course, turning the guffaw into more of a giggle, and there's no way in hell he's explaining why. "Yeah," he says instead, and makes himself settle down, though he can't stop the grin. "Okay. Hey- have you got any pudding?"

**Author's Note:**

> Dear worriers: Worth probably lost, like, two or three pints of blood, nothing dire.
> 
> title from Muse's "Falling Away With You," again not for any particular reason, and inspiration once again from Caco, because, well, obviously.


End file.
